Eggs and 'tetchup

Eggs & 'tetchup

I once had the best wife in the universe, who just happened to be one studly hunk of a man. An unbiased opinion, that, I swear. Mitch was of the "Wash, Clean, Cook? YES!" mentality that I still cannot quite understand. Happy to appreciate these skills, in my confusion, make no mistake, I'm very grateful! Especially considering Wash, Clean, Cook were happily joined by Play and Change Diapers ♥

When he fell undeniably ill, mid-October, there was no denying a shift of responsibilities was inevitable. I wasn't ready for imminent, inevitable was fine.
Mitch's mother came to visit for Thanksgiving. I prepared by asking, pleading, begging, admonishing and threatening Mitch to remain still and docile, for a few weeks, to allow his bruises to heal.  We knew they came from his Lumbering About Adventures, including walls, doorways and floors; she did not. Already, he was a scary sight post-stroke, I'll admit, and I was there every day to watch the rapidlyslow decline of his body. She was in for the shock of her life, I wanted to soften it as much as I could, with whatever energy I could muster.  (FYI - he didn't listen)

I'm honored that food was her only issue with his care. Mostly I remember she made him oatmeal, his childhood favorite, like when he was 8.  Mitch really liked it with steamed milk and thank the heavens Mitch's mother was there to provide this peek at someone who'd been a stranger for almost 25 years of my life and my husband for merely 5. These peeks were numbered, sacred and running out at alarming speed.  I make oatmeal with water, he made it with water, she found comfort in providing the milk ♥

Oh look! Eggs & 'tetchup

On his last day with his mom in town, I made breakfast. And documented it.
My kids liked Eggs & 'tetchup because their dad made it for them whenever they asked. They liked Cheese Toast because Daddy told them the very best cheese comes wrapped in individual slices & tastes great slapped on dry toast.
It was two days later when I offered the kids breakfast and they ran to Mitch's dresser. Puzzled, I followed and observed as they opened his sock drawer, I helped them rifle around until we found the (unbeknownst to me) mega-stash of Everlasting Gobstoppers.  Apparently, the breakfast of other champions named Jenner. Daily part of the lounging-in-bed-before-actually-getting-up routine. Probably followed by a trip to the kitchen with real food, before the family shower at 11:30 am.
A part of the day that was theirs alone with Dad; with routines and rhythms and scents and sounds so different than my own; different even than when I am present. I was suddenly extra sad for them, for this intimacy they'd lost and perhaps never remember. And I stopped. They'd been given the gift of a father, for the briefest of moments, who was their playmate, their champion, their sun & moon. Perhaps not to be a memory for the brain at all, but a memory designed for one's heart and soul.
And that memory is moving towards making it all worthwhile ♥ 

I miss my kid

There it is. As unaccustomed as I may be, I am SAD. Really, deeply, uncomfortably sad. Now, I expected to be sad; sad that Hannah died, sad that I didn't have more time, sad in the moment of loss, sad in the vacuum she left behind. What I didn't expect was 2 years later to miss her with every cell of my being. Not in a regretful way, in a right-here, right-now, I want her with me kinda way.
Stuffing my sadness has done me no favors, I'm living like an ostrich with my head in the sand, to hide from the sadness I don't want to feel, hiding from sadness I don't know what to do with, hiding from sadness I don't understand. So I separate myself. From Scotty, from my friends, from the community -- I don't know how anyone else can understand and accept the part of me I cannot understand nor accept. And I just don't know when a Sadness Attack is gonna sneak up on me and I just can't go around snotty-nosed and bawling in public; nor can I stuff it anymore!!!
The leak began a few days ago when I was watching a Chefography of Rachel Ray... from her childhood photos, it was easy to see the progression to the woman she is today. I could see Hannah's picture from my perch and it was easy to imagine her as a gangly teen and a blossoming young woman. Then there's Dreadlock Boy (Jason Castro) on American Idol, who mentioned that as a young boy he remembers most people commenting on his eyes. Hannah would so relate to this young man, with his hispanic heritage and light eyes, just like her! And I cry... I cry that she's not next to me on the sofa, her 11.5 year old Self, enjoying with me the things that make me think of her.
I miss her eyebrows and the chicken pox scar at the edge of her left brow. I miss her fingernails. I miss her hair, tickling my face when I hug her. I miss buying her cute clothes. I miss having mother/daughter excursions. I miss being her mama. I miss her mumblings as she sleeps next to me. I miss the smell of her sweaty, new-puppy scented head. I miss her voice, telling me what a good mommy I am.
I told Scotty. A confession of immense magnitude. An explanation of where I am and why. And I cry. I open my phone and call upon Amy's music --not to soothe me, to commiserate with me. I cried my way through Grieve and Wide Sky Life, not yet ready to hear Exactly (though I know there's more Truth in that song than in any sacred text on this planet).
You've not heard from me because I'm busy crying. You may not hear from me for a while because I'm busy crying. I shall be at peace with my sadness, I shall learn to live cooperatively with the sadness in my heart. I don't need Sadness to leave, per se, I need Peace to come and give Sadness context and purpose. (maybe the context and purpose have to come first...)
Nothing much to be/can be done, but to move to yet another place of acceptance in my own Self.
That is the hardest job I've ever had as a human being called diana.

My Sacred Life, Day 16

Patches D. Cat
September 4, 1992 - January 31, 2008
Another peaceful passing. Third time's a charm.